


Reunited

by rhythmickorbit



Series: Transtalia Week- April 2019 [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Marching Band, Confidence, Elizaveta has grown up, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Self Confidence, Self-Acceptance, Self-Reflection, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans!Hungary, dysphoria implications, everyone does lmao, learning to love yourself, marimba players, oddly theraputic, section leaders, self love, she has a long way to go, this was fun to write though. Hope it gives you good vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 13:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18344612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmickorbit/pseuds/rhythmickorbit
Summary: Elizaveta has always struggled with how she views herself. Time, however, allows for evolution.





	Reunited

            Elizaveta used to despise every inch of her body. She abhorred the thing, the meat sack that gave her so much insecurity. She could have written a list on every single flaw that she couldn’t stand about her physical form.

            Inevitably, however, time flew by. It flew by more quickly than she would have wanted it.

            Elizaveta’s brain matured, even though she was convinced that it wouldn’t. She was a senior in high school, even though she had sworn that she could never make it past ninth grade.

            Dozens of things, good and bad had passed by. Elizaveta had loved, and broken up and loved again. She joined the marching band, and ended up needing to wear a wrist brace for a week because she never stretched her arms. She could drive the section to and from the Taco Bell across the street.

            She was the section leader of the front ensemble.

            Elizaveta and her body pushed the marimba down the ramp, desperately pulling it against gravity and the real chance of crashing. She braced herself, using the form that she so diligently carved out and made her own.

            No, Elizaveta did not look like the woman that she wanted to be yet. The line moved forward. Elizaveta, her body, and her marimba moved toward the bright end of the tunnel. Elizaveta, however, found herself millions of miles away from the low she was at just four years ago.

            The lights blinded Elizaveta as she pushed the marimba onto the field. Her body churned with anxiety for the performance.

            It wasn’t her first. It wasn’t her last. It was simply a performance, an exhibition. Nonetheless, her hands shook ever so slightly as she pushed the marimba into position.

            The front line formed around her, and the back line assembled behind. Gilbert tuned his guitar, the tones echoing throughout the stands. The crowd in front was watching, judging.

            They were judging their skill, not their bodies. Never that.

            Elizaveta felt bolstered as Erika gave the sign to Natalya to adjust their vibraphones accordingly. Roderich sound-checked his synth, playing a single measure of their music. Nerves were in the air—she could smell them.

            She and her body slipped the mallets out of the bag on her instrument. They breathed as one.

            Ludwig climbed the drum major’s stand in front of the entire band. He peered around the field, and Elizaveta wondered if he ever felt overwhelmed.

            She couldn’t see them, but she could feel the other sections behind her, indistinguishable from afar. It was the front ensemble that never wore shakos, that was unique and up front with the rest of the band.

            Looking up into the stands, at those peering faces and cheering parents, Elizaveta realized that she didn’t care.

            Her body was nimble. Her body was graceful. Her body was strong. Her body was endurance.

            Elizaveta, and only Elizaveta raised the mallets up to the marimba as Ludwig raised his arms.

            The music soared, and Elizaveta soared with it-- she and her body one again.

**Author's Note:**

> Stupid metaphors are stupid phdkfjsk. I love Elizaveta so much tho. She is the best section leader!! The best and I will make another fic to depict that. This was way more reflective.
> 
> I do not claim to know how gender dysphoria feels. If I offended anyone in any way, please let me know and I will make changes accordingly.
> 
> This was oddly therapeutic to write, however. I have experienced insecurities, although that and dysphoria are by no means the same thing. I hope that one day everyone is able to come to terms with their body and they are able to present how they wish. 
> 
> Marching competitions are oddly introspective. I also wanted to capture that feeling too. There's an odd realization when it comes to performing with your band.


End file.
